


the whole world a blur (but you are standing)

by ethia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2ndperson POV, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-22
Updated: 2010-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-06 13:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethia/pseuds/ethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which gaps are closed, and fears faced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the whole world a blur (but you are standing)

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from _Hoppipolla_ by Sigur Ros.

You haven't done this in a long time (too long, your father would say, but that's another matter entirely), and certainly not with someone by your side.

It's reassuring, somehow, to hear Cas' steps falling in with your own; his ragged breathing tells you he's struggling to keep up but he will hear nothing about slowing down.

You find your pace with ease, your own breathing deep and regular, and you feel like you could go on like this for hours, for days, if you needed to. Maybe this is what flying feels like, you think, this bone-deep feeling of freedom, like all the ties that usually rein you in have been snapped and all that's left is this pull, this urge to move forward, on and on, and never stop.

A light drizzle sets in, a fine spray that cools your flushed skin; you bend your head back, lifting your face to the sky. Far above, rich green leaves shield you from the grayness higher up; for all you know, you and Cas could be the only people left in the world. It's a sobering thought, but not unpleasant: for now, you let it be true, even if later it will turn out to be a lie.

You listen to the quiet hush around you, the age-old silence hanging between the trees, broken only by the sound of your steps (his and yours in sync) and the hiss of air rushing in and out of your lungs. This, this is what peace feels like: the give and take of muscles moving smoothly under your skin as you run on, legs as light as air, and all you know is here and now.

Beneath your feet the trail winds its way through the forest, and up ahead you can already see the last bend that shelters you from the world you imagined gone. You resist the urge to pick up your pace and fall back instead, letting Cas take the lead. He doesn't complain or ask you why, but runs on steadily, his movements graceful, but lacking the quiet efficiency of a practiced runner.

When you reach the parking lot you slow to a walk, allowing your body to adapt to the change in pace. You feel yourself wind down, a pleasant heaviness settling in your bones. Cas has reached the motel before you; you take in the sight of him where he's leaning against the wall, eyes closed, catching his breath. Even though he's well out of the rain now there's a fine sheen of moisture on his skin. He looks a little unfamiliar, dressed in an old pair of sweats and the navy blue tee shirt you passed on to him. Not like an angel at all; just a man, down to earth, flushed and slightly out of breath.

As you watch him, you feel a familiar tug, a pull toward him that you've noticed before but always ignored. You take a step closer now, your eyes dipping to where his shirt is riding up, revealing a patch of flushed, sweat-damp skin. His eyes slip open as you take another step closer; he watches you, blue eyes guarded behind half-closed lids.

You've kissed an angel before, but she was human at the time, and you didn't know about the implications. This is different; largely because this is Cas you're thinking about, and you didn't see it coming.

He shifts his stance in a subtle way, curling one hip toward you. It looks like an invitation; everything about him does. His mouth is parted slightly, his chin raised a little so that his face is angled toward yours. Your eyes dart to the nape of his neck, where the tips of his hair are starting to curl against his skin, heavy with moisture. You could curl your tongue against his skin just there, lap at the salt-taste of him until each of his breaths ends on a quiet little moan, until you've learned the taste of him and each little lick translates to a sharp tug of _desirewantneed_ in your gut.

The thought makes you curl your fingers against your thighs. You're close enough now to feel the heat radiating off his body; close enough to see the glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes.

"Cas," you say and watch him swallow, watch his gaze dip to your mouth and back up, still so uncertain (you imagine his heart hammering in his chest), "let's get inside and warmed up, huh? I could do with a shower."

The pull toward him hasn't lessened; you're aware of it as you step away from him, his heat fading as the distance between you grows. You don't look back to see if he follows; you've made your decision and now you'll wait for him to make his.

+++

You have never done this before (keep your feet on the ground where they belong, son, your father might have said, but he's not been around for a long time) and you wonder why you've been so afraid of it.

Cas holds you close, and you feel safe enough. You thought that maybe it would be cold up here, that the wind would whip at you sharply, but all you feel is warmth, and the heady rush that comes with moving at a very high speed.

For a moment, you wish you could open your eyes and spy on Cas as he is now: all heat and light and pressure, wrapped firmly around you to keep you aloft. Somewhere up and behind, you feel the powerful beating of his wings, the push and pull of muscles shifting to create motion. The beats are few and far between as you glide ahead, catching ever new thermals, each taking you higher than the one before.

It must have felt something like this when he pulled you from hell, gripping you so tightly that he imprinted himself on your skin. He's learned to temper himself since then, but just to be sure you've told him to keep his hands off your skin or be prepared to heal any further prints he might leave. He didn't quite smile at that, but the way he dipped his head to hide his blush and the shy little look he flashed at you made you think he wasn't exactly averse to the idea of marking you.

The memory makes you squirm a little in his arms, and he tightens them around you, giving a slight squeeze. You feel a brush of warmth against your cheek and wonder if this is Cas whispering very softly, asking if you're all right, perhaps, or telling you to hold the fuck still or end up as a red patch on the ground, probably phrased in a slightly different way.

Before you've reached a conclusion, you feel a subtle shift in the air that tells you you're slowing down. The slow, even wing beats you've grown used to become faster, working harder now to keep you aloft at a lower speed. It feels like you're sinking forever, adrift on a sensation of heat and pleasant pressure. When your feet eventually touch the ground it almost comes as a shock, even though the contact is gentle enough. You gasp in a breath and let yourself lean back into the safety of Cas' embrace for a moment.

"Can I open my eyes now?" you ask, wondering where he took you.

"Yes," he says, and you feel him step away. You shiver briefly in the cool evening air, feeling exposed without his warmth wrapped around you. When you open your eyes, the place looks familiar even with just the murky twilight filtering in through the leaves high above. He's taken you to the forest, the one you ran in together a few days ago. You turn to face him, familiar again in his rumpled coat and raise your brows at him.

"Well, that wasn't very far," you say. Cas dips his head to the side, giving you a crooked look, blue eyes shimmering.

"Far enough," he says, stepping closer. You let him come to you, watching him as he closes the gap between you. He looks sure enough, much like he did when he invited you to fly with him earlier tonight. You can feel him again now, the warmth that draws you near, that quiet pull between him and you. Just a little closer and it will flare, will turn from warmth to heat and your restraint will melt, but that final step is not up to you.

"Is this where you want to be, Dean? I need to know." He murmurs the words so low that you almost have to lean in to catch them. His eyes are unguarded as he looks at you, patiently waiting for your answer. A small movement draws your gaze away from his face and to his hand that's poised halfway between him and you, fingers curled as though to reach for you.

"Yes," you tell him, "it is."

The change in his expression is subtle; you watch as the tension dissolves, and suddenly he looks that much more human. He reaches for you then, fingers curling around the lapel of your jacket. A shift in his posture brings him chest to chest with you, the contact so light you only feel it when you take a deep breath. He brings his mouth so close to yours you can feel his breath on your lips, the warmth of it drawing you nearer.

"I wasn't sure," he whispers, and you bite back a moan at the sensation, the very slight sweep of his lips against yours as they move to form the words. You bring your hand up to rest against the back of his neck, your other arm curling around his back, anchoring him to you.

"But you're now," you say, and you're trembling with the effort of holding back, of keeping the contact between your lips so light that all you do is share breath and heat and the slightest brush of skin on skin, "tell me, Cas."

"Yes," he says and you pull back a little, making him whimper, making him follow and press himself into you, "yes."

His mouth is hot and sure against yours when you finally let him make contact; his eagerness makes you groan against his lips, your arms tightening around his body, as sure of him as he is of you.

It's his choice, and it is yours.

And it feels good.

 

Fin.


End file.
